


one little taste

by jolie_unfiltrd



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Jolie's Quarantine Quick Fics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-08
Updated: 2020-04-08
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:42:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23088763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jolie_unfiltrd/pseuds/jolie_unfiltrd
Summary: Sansa hears Podrick singing at a bar.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth, Podrick Payne/Sansa Stark
Comments: 5
Kudos: 37





	one little taste

**Author's Note:**

> title is from maroon 5's song: sugar  
> because i can't resist 
> 
> also this quarantine quick fic is dedicated to the anon who loved pod x sansa!   
> <3

If Sansa Stark was a betting woman, which she decidedly was not, this was not the way she imagined her night would come to a close: pressed against the brick wall in the alley behind the bar, sequin dress riding up her thighs as she spread her legs to accommodate the man in front of her, the man pressing kisses to her clavicle as if he’d waited his whole life for the opportunity to do so. She pulled on the dark hair and was rewarded with a muffled groan, before he traced up the side of her neck with heady kisses, pausing only to push her sweat-soaked hair out of the way and murmur, “How do you want me, Sansa? On my knees?”

Sansa reconsidered her stance. Perhaps she should grab a lottery ticket on her way home, enter that contest for the all-inclusive paid vacation to Essos. Luck was finally turning her way.

The evening had not started out so fortuitous. A pseudo-bachelorette party, a broken heel, running into Jon and his new girlfriend at the bar – it had been one disaster after another, a series of unfortunate events that no ominous narrator or ominous amounts of tequila could chase away.

But then, Sansa heard him sing.

She had been walking – well, stumbling – well, limping through the back of the bar as the manager looked for some superglue to help fix her shoe so that she didn’t break her ankle as they traipsed around the city, and he had tapped the microphone once, twice, and introduced himself.

“Um, hi, I’m Podrick, and I’ll be your entertainment for the next hour.” Raucous cheers greeted his announcement.

Sansa’s head had snapped up so fast she thought she’d get whiplash, and she certainly almost broke something with the sharp movement, but thankfully for her future self, she retained full mobility of all her body parts.

Podrick? Like, Pod? Brienne’s sweet friend who she had met exactly twice and both times in excruciatingly strange circumstances? Such as and including Brienne’s engagement party, during which the newly engaged couple began to arm wrestle and it devolved into a full-on brawl that was uncomfortably sexual for all observers?

(Sansa had stepped onto the balcony for some fresh air, only to find it already occupied by a dark-haired man sipping on his beer and staring out into the city lights. It took only a moment for her eyes to trace his form, tall but with broad shoulders, a band t-shirt that she didn’t recognize, and worn jeans. He wasn’t her type, typically, but she had recently given up on men, so who cared whether he was her type or not?

He was attractive, anyway. That was just a simple fact.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she said, instinctively, already preparing to step back into the party, when he offered her a half-grin and stepped to the side, giving her space at the balcony.

“I wouldn’t want to go back inside quite yet, if I were you,” he said, eyes mischievous, and she couldn’t help but be drawn in.

“Oh?”

“This happens almost every time they get a little drunk. They start to arm-wrestle, then brawl, and then they ‘subtly’ retreat to the bedroom and return in 15 minutes as if no one noticed.”

Sansa laughed shortly, swirling her drink as she leaned on the balcony next to him. “This is a pattern? And no one put a stop to it?”

He looked down at her, a wry smile lighting up his face, and winked.

“It’s usually my job to make sure they never even arm wrestle, but it seemed a shame that they couldn’t have a little fun at their own engagement party.”

Sansa started to snort, then to giggle, and laugh uproariously. “Oh my god,” she huffed, once she could breathe semi-properly, “so it's your fault. You’re the reason I am forever scarred.”

His smile only grew broader, the twinkle in his eyes more pronounced. “Podrick,” he offered, holding out his beer to her gin and tonic.

“Sansa,” she said, though she was undecided if she wanted to know more about him, or murder him in his sleep for making her endure that strange fighting foreplay between Jaime and Brienne.

She clinked her glass against his, they drank, and she solemnly vowed to never speak of his lapse in duty again.)

That had been almost a year ago.

Sansa leaned up against the bar and listened to him sing, all too aware that she was becoming more heated by the moment, that a flush was spreading up her chest that had nothing to do with the tequila or the four bars they had been to before this, but the man singing about love and loneliness and –

Gods, the things she wanted to _do_ to him. To Podrick Payne, of all people.

Sansa hadn’t thought she had a thing for musicians.

But she was starting to wonder if she had a thing for Podrick.

The manager came back with the superglue and Sansa perched herself on a nearby barstool, gluing her heel and holding it tight together, hoping that it would hold enough to get her through the night. She waved off Margaery when the brunette came to check on her, saying that she would catch up, and hoping that her intuitive friend did not notice that her gaze was fixated on the stage.

Sansa polished off her gin and tonic in record time, attempting to sate her thirst, but did not move from her seat until his set was finished. Slipping her foot back into her heel, and gingerly testing its hold, she stood to greet him - to at least be polite, to say hello, to not miss the opportunity to reconnect with him again - when she saw the clustering of women flocking to the stage, eyes aglow and cheeks flushed.

It was only a moment's hesitation - she hadn't spoken to him in almost a _year_ \- and all of a sudden, the moment had passed. The urge had softened, just enough, to allow her to turn and walk away. 

Sansa shook her head, determined to meet up with Margaery at the bar down the street rather than indulge this farce of a fantasy any further. Besides, maybe some fresh air would do her good, and this strange spring night was balmy enough to actually enjoy it. Sansa slipped out the front door and was halfway to the next bar when she heard her name shouted from behind her.

"Sansa?"

She turned without thinking, her hand seeking the pepper spray in her purse, just in case, when she recognized the caller: a dark-haired man jogging in her direction, gleaming with sweat and a hesitant smile on his face. 

"Podrick?"

"I thought that was you," he said, content in his correctness and out of breath as he slowed to a stop next to her, a broad grin stretching across his face. 

"It was me," she replied, the corner of her lips curving up into a smile to match his own. There was a moment of silence between them, as they listened to the loud music spilling out onto the streets from nearby bars and people yelling across the streets and what seemed to be a fight brewing between two bouncers just a block away.

"I didn't know you could sing," she blurted out, uncharacteristic for her. 

He shrugged, though a flush spread to the tips of his ears. "Every now and then."

"You're really good. You should sing more often."

"You liked it?" he asked, eagerly, before seeming to check his eagerness and restrain himself. 

"I did," Sansa admitted, shrugging lightly as if it did not matter to her what he thought about her liking his singing. It mattered a surprising amount.

"Good," he said, sighing in what felt like relief. "Good."

Sansa glanced down at her feet to realize that somehow, she had stepped close enough that her toes aligned with his - and that her left hand had reached to intertwine with his. That they had stopped speaking, choosing instead to grin at each other, like silly idiots. The sequins on her dress brushed up against his shirt, and she was startled to find that she still had to look up. Even in her towering heels, he was still taller. His eyes were intent, focused, as if he let her out of his sight, she might slip away once more.

He solemnly leaned his forehead against her own. (His lips were so close she could nearly, almost, reach out and kiss him - but the space between them felt like it was buzzing with a tension she had remembered from a year ago and thought it was a fluke, a mis-remembering of a hazy memory on a balcony. She wasn't sure how she had ever forgotten this surprising chemistry between them). 

"I didn't think I'd see you again," Podrick admitted as he brought a hand up to her cheek - all too familiar for this man she'd met twice before, but still not enough for this craving, this peculiar longing that was starting to take over her bloodstream. 

"Well," Sansa murmured, looking up at him through her lashes, "I thought I might see you at the Tarth wedding."

Podrick smirked, raising an eyebrow and grinning cheekily. "Don't you mean the Lannister wedding?"

Sansa merely raised an eyebrow in response and he laughed - gods, how had she forgotten how much she liked the sound of his laugh? - before sobering up, once more. "I wanted to kiss you, then." 

"Not now?" 

"I didn't miss my chance?" 

Sansa only smiled for a moment, before lifting up on her toes to press her lips to his and - 

"Oy! Get a room or get off the sidewalk!" A small, fierce woman in see-through light-up stilettos barreled into them from behind, a posse of drunken girls stumbling behind her, laughing and singing a rather bawdy song that they had made up involving some rather, admittedly, creative imagery with roses. Sansa considered: would it be rude to kill Margaery on her pseudo-bachelorette night, or would it be warranted? In this case of disturbing a kiss so sweet as this? Margaery winked over her shoulder as they stormed past, and Sansa was filled with both admiration and aggravation towards her best friend. 

Luckily, Podrick both got the memo, and took the tiny powerhouse's advice, pulling Sansa by the hand around the corner and pressing her firmly against the wall, bracketing her hips with his own. She resisted the urge to nuzzle up the side of his neck - while she knew, logically, that he smelled like some combination of sweat and beer and bar food, something about him smelled just _wonderful_. 

Luckily, Podrick, ever the gentleman, even with rumpled hair and a silly grin on his face, waited for her to initiate once more - so she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him in close for a searing kiss that was still at least ten times better than she'd imagined it could be. He exhaled sharply and brought his hands to wind around her waist, pulling her hips into his and groaning at the taste of her. Sansa thought, absentmindedly, that maybe it was always the quiet ones, and if that was true, they were both in for one hell of a night. 

Maybe two tickets to Essos, then. She considered that Podrick would look lovely on the beach, before he dropped to his knees and she really stopped thinking at all. 


End file.
